


each other and the sea

by paperiuni



Series: Trifles from Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, In Which They Are Pirates, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperiuni/pseuds/paperiuni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's seen enough of the shore to last him a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	each other and the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umbralpilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbralpilot/gifts).



> Prompt fic from tumblr, posted here for archiving. (I reject any reality in which they’re not partners in piracy and slave-hunting, thank you very much.)
> 
> Prompt: Fenris x Isabela, "underwater kiss"

The wind drives the waves of Rialto Bay to the long, winding beach, frothing strings of white breaking up the azure of the water. Fenris watches the caravel approaching across the waves. Her sails are belled by the wind, and the ragged flag bears a familiar motif. The streaks of soot and fresh patches of lighter timber across her prow bear testimony to recent battle.

His own errand has gone well. As soon as the crew grow into more than tiny mirages in the fierce sun, he seeks out shapes and colours.

Blue flashes on the starboard railing, the dark hue of her admiral’s hat and the warm cobalt of the scarf she still wears underneath. Her spyglass gleams like an earthbound star.

His work on the island is done. They’ll lower the longboat and the water barrels; there’s a spring some three hundred paces inland. Perched on his rock, he waits patiently. The wind is hard, the waves mounting to waist height and higher.

She crouches on the prow of the longboat as it cuts the threshing swell. Her long braid whips back along with the tails of her scarf, black curls bound back for the voyage.

Later, if the night is calm, he’ll part her plait for the simple pleasure of his fingers in her hair. What a thing to miss. She will laugh at him.

The boat is out twenty pulls of the oars when she drops over the edge and into the surf, barefoot like a sailor, and his restraint melts away. He lets himself wade into the the sunlit water to meet her.

Isabela barrels into him laughing that laugh he heard in his ears, husky and grand and free. She is soaked to the waist, her linen breeches clinging to her hips. A wave crests behind her and makes short work of his own kit. Her arms loop around his neck.

“Admiral,” he says. He’ll scrub salt from his gauntlets later. Now he wraps his arms around her waist, then under her thighs to hoist her up, her feet kicking up a sweep of water.

She rests her head against his. Her hat tilts askew. “Hello, sweet thing.”

Not far off the crew–their crew–is hauling the boat to shore. The next wave makes him teeter, holding her weight on the loose wet sand of the bottom. Brine spatters both their faces.

She tastes of salt and sun and tar, her fingers strong and tender on his face, as he kisses her. He’s seen enough of the shore to last him a while.

Time to go home.


End file.
